


Till All Falls Down

by ShortAngryTwinks



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Lovers, First Meetings, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Religion, the period being the 1100s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25279882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortAngryTwinks/pseuds/ShortAngryTwinks
Summary: Nicolo and Yusuf meet on a battlefield in the 1100's. They are fighting on opposite sides, for causes they both believe are just. They are two sides of the same coin, and as they will learn, two halves of the same soul.
Relationships: Andy| Andromache the Scythian/ Quynh| Noriko (Background), Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 20
Kudos: 365





	Till All Falls Down

**Author's Note:**

> **This work deals with graphic violence, religion, and internalized homophobia.** 
> 
> This is a soulmate AU in which people are colorblind until they make eye contact with their soulmate. I didn't really describe that in text, mainly just left context clues.

The first things Yusuf sees in color are wide blue eyes as the life seeps from them, then a flood of red blood. 

It was then that he understood that the other half of his soul belonged to a man. A man that he had just killed. 

He screws his eyes shut tight, in the midst of a raging battlefield, and for a moment, he doesn’t care whether or not he dies. His whole life he had waited to find his soul match. He fought for what he believed was right, for Allah, for his home, and he had expected to either die for the cause or to come home to find a woman who completed him and grow old with her. 

The moment passes, and he opens his eyes again, the world so bright it hurts. He does not look at his soul, lying on the ground, does not want to know what he looks like. Blue eyes, red blood. There is nothing else he needs to know.  
\-----  
The last thing Nicolo sees before he dies is the color brown. He does not know this at the time, all he knows is that he is seeing eyes that are neither black nor grey, and then his head goes light, his vision black. 

He is suddenly unable to support the weight of his own body, and falls to his knees. He had seen the eyes of the other half of his soul, the man he had thought he was about to kill, the man who had spun around and killed him instead. 

He hadn’t seen anything beyond the man’s eyes, and part of him wishes he could have seen more. The other part wonders if this is his punishment. Wonders, in his last second, why he is fighting for a God that would condemn him to death for the soul he had been given.  
\-----  
Nicolo awakens on the same battlefield, not knowing how much time had passed. He is no longer in pain, and when he presses his hand against his chest, where the sword of his soul match had pierced him, he feels only smooth skin.

He blinks dazedly up at the sky. He knows now what the color blue looks like. He looks at his hands, caked with blood, and adds red to his catalogue. His skin, he had been told, is some mixture of brown and pink tones. On wobbling legs, he gets to his knees as he sets a searching hand out for his sword. Grey (a color that has long since been in his catalogue) catches his eye amidst the soil (brown, he adds to his catalogue, noting that it had been the color of his soul match’s eyes) and he retrieves his sword with relief.  
——-  
It had started with an attempted siege on their stronghold.

Yusuf had been chatting with other men, relaxed and off guard, watching their lunch roast on a spit, when the alarm had sounded. Christian forces spotted, attempting to use the brush as cover to catch them unwitting. 

He had grabbed his sword, resigning himself to skip lunch, and headed forward to defend the world as he knew it.  
——-  
The thing about killing the other half of your soul is that it’s a bit of a taboo. After all, who would be so heartless as to kill their own heart?

Not quite as taboo, but approaching, is his other reality. The bond he had so quickly and unwittingly severed had been to a man. He supposes it is a small blessing. If he has no soulmate, his soulmate is not a man. 

When he was young, there was a soul bonded pair who lived nearby. Two men, followed constantly by distrustful eyes. Their existence was rarely verbally acknowledged, but the silence spoke volumes nonetheless. People did not know what to do with this rarity, and thus chose to ignore it. To ignore them.

Yusuf knew well what it meant, even then.

Yet deep down inside, his soul is aching and fractured. That part of him knows that no amount of relief from the scrutiny of others could be sensibly exchanged for the half of his soul he had lost.

He fights on nonetheless, each pair of blue eyes he bests haunting him more than the last.  
\-----  
Nicolo is not certain why he is alive. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say that it might be because God was giving him a chance to redeem himself for the sin of sharing his soul with another man. A heretical one, to boot. 

He is here to reclaim Holy Land in the name of God. So if he dies and comes back to life, it must be in service of God. He does not think too hard about why God would do this, when he is the one who spliced his soul together with a man in the first place. He does not think about why he has to redeem himself for a sin he had no hand in committing, he simply thanks God for the second chance, and pushes forward into the fortress to do His bidding.

\-----  
His captain blows into a conch, the signal to fall back, and Nicolo pulls his sword from the neck of the man he had just killed (brown eyes, like the other half of his soul, but a distinctly different shape to them.) 

When he joins his captain, he sees his eyebrows raise as he takes in the gaping hole in his armor. At this point, luckily, it is likely impossible to tell that the blood around the hole is his own, as he is covered in the blood of others in all sorts of places. 

He does not feel like explaining the fact that he has been chosen for resurrection by God. 

He feels that He should have contacted him by now. Those who are meant to enact His will are typically allowed to speak with Him—to be told what that will is in no uncertain terms. Nicolo frowns to himself. Perhaps this is another part of his test? He loses faith in the notion with each passing moment, but he can think of nothing else to describe why he would be coming back to life. No power on earth could do such a thing but God.

The troops make it to their camp for the night, and Nicolo falls into a fitful sleep, waiting to be called on for his turn on watch.

In his dreams, he is a woman. She is riding a horse through a field, side by side with another woman on a horse, who he is somehow also. The women smile at each other, speaking over the sound of the wind whipping by in a tongue that is both unfamiliar to him, but somehow also a language he can speak.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a new one.” The woman with black hair comments, in the tongue he is unsure how he understands.

“Do you want to look for him?” The woman with the brown hair asks, tossing a smile towards her companion.

“Hmm.” The woman replies. “I’m not sure, it seems he’s in the middle of quite a big situation right now. Might be best to give him some time to work things out.”

“Alright.” She replies, laughing as she urges her horse faster.

The two race, and not much else of interest happens in his dream.

When he wakes, he somehow thinks they might have been discussing him.  
\-----  
There is a night of rest when the Christians retreat. It is not a full rest, much of the time is spent transporting the dead, which the Christians have left behind. It takes a full hour for them to move their fellow men into the fortress, where their bodies will be washed and prepared to be sent to their families for burial.

It is grueling work, and Yusuf’s teeth are gritted throughout the process, his personal demons haunting him in tandem with his current activity. When it is done, the men say a prayer, and eat their now cold deer roast. It is unpalatable in the face of today’s carnage. 

They lost nearly half their men in the fight. The christian forces aren’t much better, but Yusuf knows they will not relent, not after a single day.

The eyes of his soul match float through his mind. Wide, blue, empty, closed. A succession of states played out in meticulous detail. He closes his eyes, and attempts to ignore the onslaught as he drifts to sleep.  
\-----

Nicolo suspects he is meant to kill his soulmate. This is, presumably, the burden of his resurrection. He had always known that humans were put on this earth to suffer, and to repent for their sins, but somehow it’s so much different when he feels it’s sting so acutely. 

He knows the man’s back, and his eyes, their shape and color. His gaze had even slid, fuzzy and unfocused, to briefly rest upon the man's cheek, but it is not much to go off of.

Then again, he is here to kill, his mission is Holy, and he must carry it out.

So kill he does, wreaking havoc upon the battlefield as best he can. He fights a man who poses a challenge, who cuts his arm so blood drips down it and into the soil, already fertile with the liquid.

He continues to fight, heedless of the gash, and emerges victorious, wrenching his sword from the man’s heart. When he looks at his arm, the cut is healed. He frowns. This is proof that God is on his side, and yet…

He allows his mind to go blank, falling into the rhythm of the battle, the dance of combat. He dodges, and slashes, feels his blade make purchase in others, and theirs in him. He does not die again, but he continues to heal as he makes his way through the sludge of broken bodies and angry men.

He sees a silhouette he thinks is familiar, and tenses. 

Despite the fact that his soulmate killed him, despite the fact that he is a man, Nicolo finds himself somewhat reluctant to do the same. To kill the other half of his soul is unthinkable. He supposes this is why God wants him to do it. It wouldn’t be a challenge if it were something he would think to do. He knows he must prove his faith, so he steels his resolve and charges forward.

The man turns to face him, and blocks his blow with his own sword. The clash sends vibrations all down his arms, and he feels them in his bones, uncomfortable and aching. He grits his teeth and allows their swords to scrape apart in a screech of metal. He jabs low, but the man bounces back out of the way and swings from above, Nicolo rolls to the side. They have effectively disengaged from each other, and both circle like predators, searching for an opening. The man swings, he dodges, he jabs, the man blocks. They circle again. The man has developed a sparkle in his eye, seems almost playful. Nicolo’s brow furrows. The man swings his sword around his hand in an impressive maneuver, and grins with all his teeth. It would be threatening, if Nicolo could die.

Nicolo cannot die, he remembers suddenly. He lunges forward, dropping all attempts at defense. The man seems startled, but not enough so that his sword doesn’t jut out to run Nicolo through, as he slashes through the other man’s neck. The man stumbles back, wide eyed and startled, dragging the implaled Nicolo with him. They both fall to the ground, the man clutching his severed throat. Nicolo coughs blood into his face, and the man flinches. His mouth moves wordlessly, and Nicolo’s world goes black.

He awakens, still impaled, and realizes that this time he is going to have to pull the sword from his own chest. So he does, agonizingly enough. He lays on the ground, unable to pant, as he feels his chest mend itself together again. His head lolls to the side in exhaustion, and he berates himself for his rash decision to die by another man’s sword for convenience's sake. 

Nicolo props himself up to observe the man in question. He is fairly certain that this is his soulmate. He has done his duty. 

Now, in this moment of rest, he allows himself to take in the man’s features. Curly brown hair, a beard, an attractive face. He feels a pang to think that this man is part of him. It is cruel that their only destiny was to kill each other.

His eyes fall upon the man’s mortal wound, and widen when he realizes that the wound is knitting itself closed.

His back goes ramrod straight. The man’s eyes open, and he is hit with a dizzying set of images, ones that leave him clutching his head and trembling at their violence. He watches the man’s death play out, from his point of view, watches himself as he kills the man, strangely enough.

The man sits up, staring at Nicolo. They both sit there, in the middle of a raging battlefield, and time seems to still for a moment.

“What?” The man asks patting at his throat in confusion. The question is in a tongue that is somehow both unfamiliar and known to Nicolo.

“What?” Nicolo whispers back, in Italian. It is a fearful sound. His understanding of the world is crumbling further.

The man’s eyes somehow widen more.

“Did I die?” He asks, in that same strange language, his hand still rubbing against his throat. 

“Yes.” Nicolo responds. “I killed you.”

“I killed you!” The man exclaims, pointing to his unmarked chest. “Twice, I believe!" He says it with a strangely humorous tone, and Nicolo finds the corner of his own mouth quirking. The man continues on. "What language are you speaking? Why do I understand?”

“Italian. I don’t know.” Nicolo responds. He does not know anything anymore. He had thought that his healing had been a gift from God, something to indicate that he had been chosen to do His bidding, but now that it is evident that this man had been bestowed the same gift, he isn’t so sure anymore. 

“I am Yusuf.” The man says, with a smile that is both blinding and unreasonably endearing. “If you were wondering. I do believe that you have half my soul.”

“I am Nicolo.” Nicolo responds. “I do believe we killed half of each others forces.”

The man nods as he looks around, the battlefield has grown much sparser while they were coming back to life.

“I called some of those men my friends.” He says, gesturing out into the field.

“As did I.” Nicolo responds, watching one of Yusuf’s men cut down one of his with a detached sort of interest.

“You know I have to kill you?” Nicolo adds, lifting his sword. He is not so sure himself, but he cannot take chances when it comes to the will of God.

“If you must.” Yusuf responds darkly, grabbing his own sword and hoisting himself to his feet.

Nicolo strikes the sole killing blow this time, though Yusuf badly injures him, and he must limp away from the corpse. He is unsure whether or not Yusuf will stay dead this time, but God cannot claim he didn’t try.  
\-----  
Yusuf realizes, as he slowly comes back to life, that his decision not to look too much at Nicolo, when he had first killed him, had been a sound one. The man is beautiful. 

Yusuf's will to fight had been draining with each passing hour of the day, but he feels strangely reinvigorated by the discovery that his soul lives on. He heals, then presses forward until the Christians retreat once more.  
\-----  
That night, Yusuf dreams of two women around a campfire. He is them, and they speak in a tongue he both understands and does not.

"That was quick." One of the women notes. "Another already."

Her head rests in the lap of the other woman, who is stroking her fingers through her hair.

"Yes." She hums. "Very fast. Did you notice, though, that the face of the murderer was quite familiar?"

"I did." The woman replies, a smile dancing across her face. Her eyes are shut in contentment as the other woman continues to stroke her hair. "First deaths, quite romantic, don't you agree, Andromache?" She captures the hand moving through her hair in her own, and brings it down to her mouth to place a lingering kiss there.

"Yes," Andromache responds, "quite." Her smile is small and contented, as she stares out into the starry night.  
\-----  
Yusuf kills Nicolo first, this time. He feels the satisfaction of victory, then, abruptly, none at all.

He stands there, unsure of what to do with himself. The battlefield is sparse now. Most men tired and injured. None would pose a challenge. He isn't even sure he wants a challenge.

He feels a slashing pain in his achilles tendon, and he goes down hard.

"Hello." Nicolo says, a fierce smile crawling across his face. His teeth are stained with blood. Yusuf's answering smile is painfully genuine, despite the more literal pain in his heel. 

"Hello." He responds. "Funny seeing you here."

"The funny thing is that you didn't leave." Nicolo retorts.

Before Yusuf can even begin to come up with something to say in response, Nicolo is picking himself up off the ground, sword at the ready.  
\-----  
“So, you see this as a challenge by Allah.” Yusuf says, from where he is propped up against the wall of the fort, his gaping stomach wound healing slowly. Nicolo is not much better off. It pains him to continue to do this to the other half of his soul, but in these moments, while they lick their wounds together, too beaten to go on, they can speak candidly.

“A challenge by God.” Nicolo corrects, even as Yusuf waves him off. “A test of my faith.”

“What if it isn’t a challenge?” Yusuf proposes. He looks out onto the empty battlefield, not a living man in sight aside from them, and finds it difficult to believe that Allah--or God, even exists. “What if it is a blessing?”

He faces the man, and their eyes lock. Blue to brown. He sees conflict in the blue, struggle. He can tell Nicolo is as tired as he is. It has been days, though they have all began to blur together. The last man that wasn’t them had fallen long ago. There are no reinforcements coming for Nicolo. Men will come to bring supplies to Yusuf’s company soon. Though all they will find are hordes of the dead, that must be transported for burial as soon as possible. They are both tired.

Nicolo says nothing. Yusuf turns, though it is a grueling process as his stomach stitches itself together, and places his hand to Nicolo’s cheek. It is bloody, but he is surprised to note that Nicolo leans minutely into it regardless.

“You are the other half of my soul.” He says. “You complete me, and I you. You are beautiful, and strong, my match in battle. I enjoy the moments we spend together, like this, but I would prefer if we could have this without having to die beforehand.”

Nicolo’s mouth cocks up into a little smile, and his eyes meet Yusuf’s.

“You complete me,” Yusuf continues, “and I find myself falling a little bit in love with you already. I cannot think of anyone better to spend an eternity with, and it seems an eternity might be what we have ahead of us.”

“You just tore a gash in my stomach so large my intestines fell out.” Nicolo responds, but he seems bemused.

“A mere triviality.” Yusuf responds good naturedly. “Though I would prefer never in my life to do it again.”

“You are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” Nicolo asks.

“I suppose you’ll just have to find that out.” Yusuf responds, and kisses him. The touch of their lips together is like a soothing balm, and though his wounds were already fast knitting together, he feels as though it quickens the process. 

Mere days ago he had had a war he would die for, a cause for which to fight. Now, he is no longer certain of any of the things he had been before. All he knows is he has been given a gift, and he will not squander it.

**Author's Note:**

> The immortals gain each others languages here BECAUSE I SAID SO. I didn't really want to have to deal with writing them with a huge language barrier like they probably had in cannon. Also,,, do you know how difficult it is to find information on Eastern Mediterranean views on homosexuality in the 1100's? I looked up pre-modern Islamic views on homosexuality and pretty much got "frowned upon, but usually left be" so my desire to be true to the period is only somewhat fufilled. This is an alternate universe anyways, I have no clue why I put this much effort into accuracy.


End file.
